The Road Not Taken
by Mrs. James Harold Potter
Summary: Max Carrigan always has been and always will be a womanizer. He never thought of himself any differently. But when actual love gets thrown into the mix, it makes him truly reevaluate himself, and everything around him. Will Max truly ever change?
1. Learning to Cope

Disclaimer: I don't own Across the Universe, nor do I own any of the Beatles songs. Julie Taymor owns the movie, and the Beatles own their music.

**A/N: Hey there my lovelies:) I was inspired to write a story about Max, which will continue on… I might throw in some Lucy and Jude every so often, but Max needs to find some love. Big time. So here I go and as I'm sure many of you all know I adore reviews.**

**I switch around a few things in the Lucy/Jude scene…so no reviews telling me that I did something wrong, okay? It's my fanfiction, and I can do whatever I please. :)**

**But when you review, please don't just tell me that you thought it was 'great.' or tell me. 'It's ok'. Because I'm not going to lie, I've gotten reviews like that, and it's a little irksome to know that after all the hard work you put into something, you barely get any response. For me, I review every story I read diligently—I think that many of you should know that by now. So do me that favor and return it! Love you all!**

_Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,_

_And sorry I could not travel both_

_And be one traveler, long I stood_

_And looked down one as far as I could_

_To where it bent in the undergrowth._

_Then took the other, as just as fair,_

_And having perhaps the better claim,_

_Because it was grassy and wanted wear;_

_Though as for that the passing there_

_Had worn them really about the same._

_And both that morning equally lay_

_In leaves no step had trodden black._

_Oh, I kept the first for another day!_

_Yet knowing how way leads on to way,_

_I doubted if I should ever come back._

_I shall be telling this with a sigh_

_Somewhere ages and ages hence:_

_Two roads diverged in a wood, and I--_

_I took the one less traveled by,_

_And that has made all the difference._

**The Road Less Traveled**

**-Robert Frost (1915)**

**My inspiration for this story. I do not take any credit for this amazing poem—but I thought I would let you all know, that's where I got the title from, and **

The Road Not Taken

Chapter 1: Learning to Cope

"What time do you get out?" Jude mouthed through the window to Lucy, looking completely indifferent towards her work. She noticed Jude and looked up from the stack of papers in front of her, a smile creeping up into her face. Lucy sighed, staring at the sickening pile of work, then back at Jude, outside—looking eager for a chance to talk.

"I don't know." she mouthed back, propping her elbow up, her face— mirroring nothing but disappointment. There was nothing that Lucy wanted more than to be able to spend the day in Jude's arms, and she couldn't help but feel worse as Jude's expression fell. "I love you." she mouthed back, offering Jude a sad smile. He frowned, returned his 'I love you,' and began walking back towards the apartment.

Lucy felt guilty, but she knew that she would redeem herself to Jude later. She picked up her pen, unconsciously beginning to imitate Jude's chicken scratch writing, which usually was unreadable, when placed next to her neat script. But there was something about it that was endearing, whether it be the way his letters jumbled together as he wrote, 'I love you, Lucy,' or 'I miss you,' whenever she wasn't home. It was always those small things that made Lucy appreciate his presence even more. "Hey, Carrigan..." Paco's voice threw Lucy from her thoughts. "Come down to earth for a minute and look at this."

He tossed a newspaper onto her desk. Lucy was silent for a moment, reading the cover story. Once she had finished, she ran a hand through her hair, burying her head in her hands. She carefully ripped the article out, folding it and putting it in her pocket to show Jude. "Another forty dead, twenty wounded, and two missing. Some were from a bomb, others were just gunshot wounds—others…well…I heard they just got sick of it all and took the easy way out." Paco continued, taking the remains of the newspaper, and rolling it up.

"Did they give names?" Lucy asked somberly, swallowing the growing lump in her throat.

"Nope. But that raises the death toll to about…"

"Forty-thousand. I know." She said quietly, a tormenting image of her brother being one of the soldiers among the dead. "Paco…I'm going to go for today, alright?"

"Winter's finally getting to you?" he asked curiously, as he tucked the paper in his back pocket.

"Yeah. I guess it is." Lucy stood up abruptly, shrugging on her coat. "I'll see you around." she whispered, pulling the door open, stepping out into the snow. It was mid-January. Snow fell in white, fluffy tufts from the sky. Any other day Lucy would have stopped to appreciate the beautiful sight. But today was different. She didn't stop to appreciate the snow. Not even to look at it.

_Another forty dead, twenty wounded, and two missing. Another forty dead, twenty wounded, and two missing. _Paco's words reverberated over and over in Lucy's mind, causing tears to prick her eyes. _Max could be one of them.  
_

She trudged her way up the staircase leading to the apartment. She unlocked the door, stepping inside. It was relatively warmer in there than it was outside, but cold nonetheless. It was silent, except for the occasional sound of rustling papers. Sadie and Jo-Jo probably went out somewhere. "Jude?" Lucy called, her voice echoing throughout the room. She heard a chair creak, and just moments later Jude appeared, standing in the living room doorway with a small grin on his face. "Why, hello there."

Lucy tried to smile. But she couldn't…to know that Max—_her _Max could be wounded, missing, or even dead on the opposite side of the world…and she didn't even know it. This feeling came to her every time deaths were reported in the newspapers, or on television. But Max used to call. He used to tell her that he was alright…and now? She hadn't heard from him since Christmas. Did that mean that he was among the fallen? Had he been killed?

"What happened?" Jude asked concernedly, walking closer to Lucy, his hand gently brushing against hers. Lucy's lower lip trembled as she drew closer to Jude, his familiar scent inviting and warm. Lucy simply shook her head as she wrapped her arms around Jude's waist, pressing her forehead against his. Lucy's silent tears slowly turned into body wracking sobs as she let the overwhelming emotions engulf her. "Shhh…." Jude murmured soothingly, rubbing Lucy's lower back in rhythmic circles as she sobbed. He wasn't quite sure what had been bothering her, but the most he could do at the moment was comfort Lucy to the best of his ability.

"I'm sorry, Jude. It's just…here." Lucy pulled the cut out article from her bag, handing it to Jude so he could read it. "Forty more dead, twenty injured, and Max could be…be…"

"Its okay…you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to, love." he said softly, interrupting Lucy so she wouldn't have to think about. "Listen to me, Lucy. Max is one of the toughest people I know. Do you really think that a bomb is going to kill him?" he whispered into Lucy's ear, gently planting kisses along her collar as he spoke.

Lucy's tears slowly subsided as she allowed herself to relax in Jude's embrace. She knew that she couldn't keep doing this to herself. If she kept it up, this kind of behavior would be the death of her—this worrying. Max wouldn't have wanted her to bed constantly anxious of his whereabouts. "I'm sorry…I just…I'm scared for him. This fucking war is never going to end, is it?" she asked with a sad smile, curling up against Jude's chest on the couch. "Let's just do something to get my mind off it, okay?"

Jude chuckled. "I can think of a few things we can do to take care of that." he murmured into her ear as a dark smile lit up his handsome face. Lucy laughed, her finger tracing his lips. "Can you draw me?" she asked suddenly, her cerulean eyes looking up hopefully into his. Jude grinned again.

"In any position in particular, Miss Carrigan?" he asked politely, taking Lucy's hand, leading her towards the bedroom, shutting the door carefully behind them. Lucy collapsed on the bed, beaming in Jude's general direction as she slowly peeled off each article of clothing in an elegant manner, tossing them aside until she was fully undressed, lying on her side. "Is this good enough for you, Jude?" she asked slyly, flashing a perfect smile…the one Jude constantly remarked about falling in love with.

"Perfect." he murmured, his long, flexible fingers picking up the dark charcoal. Jude cast a quick glance at Lucy's body, noticing happily that she looked on in utmost interest. Then, he began to outline her body, making sure he drew every curve correctly. It was a stimulating and vigorous process that Jude went through every time, for every picture he drew. It just so happens that the ones of Lucy he worked extra towards.

A mere ten minutes later, Jude was completely submersed in his work. He hadn't even noticed as Lucy had gotten up, wrapping nothing but a thin blanket around her body, walking towards his workbench. Jude had only begun to notice as she wrapped her arms around his neck from behind, kissing the tender spot beneath his ear. "You drew my left nipple wrong." She whispered playfully.

Jude spun around slowly in his chair to face Lucy, wrapping his arms around her waist as she towered over him. Jude couldn't help but grin as Lucy came closer to him, seeing as the only thing covering her beautiful body was a thin blanket, and even that left little to the imagination. "Well I'm sorry…" Jude stated, the playfulness in his tone matching Lucy's. "There was quite a distance in between you and me…so perhaps if I had a better look...the job would have been more properly done."

"Oh I see what you mean Jude." Lucy said happily, straddling his lap, their faces centimeters away. "How about now? Is that good enough for you?" she whispered into his ear. Jude grinned, meeting Lucy's lips in a passionate kiss. "Well, I must say, I'm not in much of a mood to _draw _anymore…if you know what I mean…" Lucy silenced him, this time by slipping a hand up the back of his sweater. "But yes, that's good enough for me."

"Well, for future reference." she murmured into his mouth, pulling the shirt over his head.

Jude stood up, leading Lucy towards the bed they shared. "For future reference." he agreed, another mysterious smile appearing on his face. "But we have better things we could be doing right now, rather than talking about my art, don't we?"

* * *

Michelle Warner slowly shut her emerald green eyes as she leaned against the rotating door of the hospital wing, hoping that she would finally get some sleep. To be perfectly honest, she couldn't remember the last time she had properly slept—therefore the time never had seemed better to do so. The past twelve hours had been spent tending to soldiers in the hospital wing. Not that it was out of the ordinary.

Working as a Red Cross nurse stationed in Vietnam, there wasn't much else for her to do. She felt great about what she was doing—saving lives and all—but what about her life? When would she get a break? She couldn't remember the last time she saw her mother, Heather—or her sister, Anna. She couldn't remember the last time she had spoken to any of her friends back home, in New York City. But here she was—'saving the world' as her mother was used to putting it.

_Whatever the fuck that's supposed to mean._

With all the stuff she had to put up with around here, it could barely be called 'saving the world.' Everyday, especially lately, so many people have died in this hospital—most of injuries. Everyday, more and more soldiers are rushed in, their wounds still freshly bleeding from battle. Half of them were made up of soldiers who were on the brink of losing their sanity. And the recovering ones?

The recovering ones tried to flirt with Michelle, which pissed her off to an utmost degree. To start, she had a boyfriend back home, who she truly cared about. God knows what happened to him though—she hadn't spoken to him since Christmas. All the phone lines have been cut off for reasons unknown to Michelle. It was becoming irritating, having no one but horny young soldiers and old nurses of whom the most interesting thing they can find to do in their spare time is to point and gape at cutouts of Paul McCartney, cooing over his latest hairstyle. She stopped doing that, what—five years ago? She'd rather talk to the soldiers.

Most of them weren't that interested in talking though. The ones who were able to. Most of them go insane within a week of being in the hospital. And the ones who were able to talk? They were more interested in getting a quick lay, rather than their recovery. Michelle worked the night shift—she could easily do whatever she wanted with any of them—but she chose not to. She wasn't that girl—the type that was a piece of meat to be played with. Nor was she planning on becoming one anytime soon.

In so many words, Michelle knew that her life up to this point hadn't been so perfect. She had dropped out of high school in her junior year, hoping to join the ranks of the artists. Michelle had a passion for all the arts—singing—writing—guitar, everything. Of course, her mother never truly supported it, but stayed by Michelle's side nonetheless, along with her sister. She never had a father to guide her, seeing that he abandoned her family when she was just a kid. Michelle had heard loads about him from her older brother, Jared—but apparently she wasn't missing anything either way.

After dropping out of high school, she made the move to the Village to work on her 'projects' as her friend and roommate Stacy Bushman had called them. Either way, Stacy was eighteen, young and vulnerable. She could still hear her mother's vehement cries of, 'Not putting all your eggs into one basket.' and 'Thinking before you act.' A few years back, and Michelle would have told her mother that it was all bullshit. Now, she couldn't agree more.

A music managing company had shown interest in Michelle's music, and offered to represent her. Of course, after all the hard work she had put into her music, she couldn't help but agree to the offer. It came with a hefty starting fee that nearly cleaned Michelle out of all her savings. All the money she had saved up over the years—in this one deal. In other words, she put all her eggs in basket. It turned out being one of the biggest mistakes of her life. It was all a con.

In the end, Michelle couldn't afford living in New York, and had to move back in with her mother—which, as she quickly learned, was one of the biggest mistakes of her life. She couldn't take being trapped inside all the time. She needed to get out. So she did the next reasonable thing. She volunteered to nurse for the American Red Cross, in Vietnam.

So here she was. It was well past midnight. Michelle was pretty sure it was a Saturday—or maybe Tuesday…she honestly didn't keep track anymore. She was tired, hell she was tired. She had been working one too many night shifts lately, and unless there was some good _reason _for her to stay up that late again, there certainly was no way she was doing it again.

She tossed her long brunette curls over her shoulder, allowing her eyes to close for a second. She was so tired. Maybe if she just closed her eyes for a moment…

"WARNER!" One of the nurses called, throwing Michelle awake once again. "Get over here, NOW!" Michelle groaned, mumbling something to herself about 'not being able to take this shit,' and continued trudging towards the Emergency Room. She stopped dead in her tracks and gasped at the sight before her. A soldier, no older the she was, his blonde hair matted in caked over blood. His uniform, stained with blood everywhere. And a wound, the size of a grapefruit in his left arm, blood freely spewing out of it. Michelle stared agape at the man, checking his wrist for a pulse. He was alive, but just barely. She helped push him into a separate room, questioning the head nurse as they went. "What the hell happened to him?" she asked softly, occasionally looking down at the young man.

"I think he got some of the explosion…I can't tell…apparently they found him on the field." Janette, one of the older nurses said with a sigh, pursing her lips together. "Do you mind taking care of him, sweetie? I have some patients in the psychiatric ward that need their medications." Michelle nodded numbly biting her lip as she began to dress the man's wounds.

She wiped the blood away with a warm washcloth, starting with the actual wound, and working her way to the rest of his body. She washed his hair, being wary to get rid of all the caked over blood. It was a disgusting job, but a job that Michelle had learned to do well over time. "Jesus Christ." she murmured, staring in awe at all the blood.

Finally, an hour or two later, she had cleaned the young man up. After cleaning herself up as well, Michelle returned to his side, hooking him up to an IV. "Where the fuck am I?" the man asked the following morning, slightly dazed from the morphine and pain medications.

"In the hospital." Michelle said with a grin. "Someone blew up your arm." she muttered sarcastically, pulling her long hair over one shoulder.

Max grinned sheepishly, as though he wasn't completely sure why he was grinning—due to the narcotics flowing through his bloodstream. "You're really pretty." he slurred. Michelle laughed. "Sure you're alright, there?" she asked the blonde haired mystery, with the stunning blue eyes. _God_…Michelle thought to herself as she stared down at the highly mediated veteran…_Too bad he'll go back to acting like an ass once he wakes up._

She opened herself momentarily, about to ask the handsome man what his name was, but she doubted that he would remember. Instead, she checked the clipboard next to his hospital bed. _Maxwell James Carrigan. _"Max." Michelle murmured softly with a smile as her new patient lulled off into an intoxicated sleep.


	2. Extraordinary Fixations

**A/N: Hello there, all my wonderful, wonderful readers! Here is Chapter 2. Because I know we all want to know what Max thinks of Michelle, I'll have him a little less intoxicated this chapter. XD Enjoy!**

**IM SOOO SORRY HOW LONG ITS TAKEN TO GET BACK ON. I must say, I wont be on much for now on, because with school and everything, I just haven't been able to find the time, but I promise. I will soon. Love you all. :P**

The Road Not Taken

Chapter 2- Extraordinary Fixations

Max slowly opened his eyes, still dizzy from all the narcotics running through his system. The morning sunlight streamed through the huge glass windows, parallel to his bed, causing Max to groan, forcing himself awake. He couldn't remember anything—why he was here—what he was doing here—or where he was for that matter. All he could remember was a stunningly attractive, brown haired nurse—talking to him just hours before. She had known his name—and yet, Max still hadn't a clue what hers was. Maybe if he called her over…

"Oh good." the brunette beauty said to Max, tossing some of her long curly tresses over one shoulder. "You're awake." She grinned, sitting down on the bed beside him, pressing the back of her hand to his forehead, checking his temperature. Her hands were warm as they glided across his forehead. Max, still not completely there, although feeling a lot better than he had, stared up into her emerald green eyes with interest.

God, she was beautiful. The way her silky brunette curls seem to cascade down her back in such an elegant yet seductive manner. Or the way her lips seemed to curl into a smile the same exact way every time she did. Max sighed, his eyes traveling down to the trim of her uniform, stopping to barely reveal the start of her expressive, shapely breasts.

Max was brought back to reality when she pulled away slightly—a little more bitter than she had been just moment before. She pulled away from him, tugging on her shirt slightly to cover her cleavage. "What?" Max asked defiantly, attempting to lift his arm and pretend that he had been alright, even though the pain was too much to bear, causing it to sink limply back down onto the bed. "Is there something wrong with recognizing the fact that you are entrancingly beautiful?"

Michelle snorted, listening to Max as she refilled his IV. "Is that the pickup line you use to fuck around with women? Or is that how you get them to look at you?" She questioned amused, turning to stare back into his cerulean eyes.

"Either way, I think its working." he mumbled, smirking. This time though, she didn't pull away—she simply stared back into his eyes wordlessly. Any other day, and she was sure that she would have told the soldier to fuck off, but today? Why didn't she feel that urge? Something must have been wrong with her—because instead of saying anything, she grabbed the clipboard, continuing to check Max's stats.

"Maybe it is. But I wouldn't push it." She muttered finally, her face flushed.

"What was that?" he persisted, sitting up on the bed, trying to get a better look at the nurse. "Ahh…shit." Max groaned, sinking back down on his pillow. "Is there anything else you can give me?" he urge, his breathing shallow. The pain in his left arm was finally kicking in, and becoming excruciatingly painful.

Michelle looked up from her writing to stare back up at Max. "It should be numb right now…you're already fixed up on your maximum dosage of morphine. And I can't give you anything else for another twelve hours. Sorry babe." She frowned, placing the clipboard in her lap. "Show me where it hurts the most."

Surprisingly, Max took her hand. His hand was warm, but rough and dry all the same. He gently placed it along the bandaged skin of his arm, guiding her fingers down the cast. His fingers gently brushed over hers as he stopped her hand right over the point where he had been shot. Max cringed slightly at her touch on his wound, but did not pull away, obviously enjoying her touch. She seemed to enjoy this as well, simply staring down at her hand as though it had been detached from her body.

"I'll tell the doctor to do something about dosage." she said curtly. Although physically, she was there, Michelle's mind was else where.

"You're leaving already?" continued Max, locking eyes with the woman.

"Yeah, I am." She stood up; brushing the invisible dust off her skirts self consciously as Max continued to stare on. "If you're looking to get laid, try that one over there." Michelle pointed at Nancy, the head nurse with voluminous tufts of scarlet hair, streaked gray. She was portly, and had to be in her mid-fifties. "You'd have better luck with her than you're having with me."

Max's mouth was agape, staring at the beautiful nurse at whom he couldn't remember her name. "Could you at least tell me your name?'

Michelle's frown turned into a slight smile, repeating the phrase that she had repeated to so many soldiers before, who had asked her that very same question. "Michelle. Michelle Warner. It's Nurse Warner to you." The second half of her sentence, however, seemed to have no effect on Max, who seemed very distracted as is.

"Okay. I'll see you around Michelle." he said, winking at Michelle with a wry grin.

Michelle rolled her eyes in defense to his attitude as she walked away, knowing that he had to have been staring at her. Any other day, this would have bothered her; she would have muttered profanities and flipped the soldier off. But why wasn't she doing it now? Was something wrong with her?

Without warning, she wheeled around, and of course Max was staring at her with a look of peculiarity that Michelle had never seen before. It was a mix of longing and curiosity—with a hint of surprise. He was probably surprised that she hadn't flipped him off yet.

Just to check that she was still sane; Michelle did in fact flip Max off. But with elegance—for a smile like no other formed on her face as she did it and walked away. Perhaps he_ was_ different. But still—Michelle knew better than to keep her head in the clouds. Because the higher in the clouds it stayed, the harder she would hit the ground.

Nancy, the one that played a game with herself to see how many guys she can get into a bed in a week leaned over the counter of the nurse's station. Her cinnamon gum snapped viciously in her mouth. "What's that look on your face for, Hun?" she asked

"Hmm…oh nothing, really." she mumbled incoherently, glancing at Max's sleeping figure every so often, just to check that he was alright. It was a habit that Michelle was beginning to have.

"Well, tell me….is he at least good in bed? I was thinking that maybe I could try him out for…"

"Stop it." Michelle said firmly, feeling anger rise in her chest at the thought of someone else being with Max other than her. Not that she cared—it just would morally incorrect for such nonsense to be going on. "He's not like that. He's…"

"Different?" Nancy asked, raising her eyebrows. "Honey, I used to tell myself that too. They're all the same. All he's looking for is a lay. Don't mind him. And you know what? After getting your heard broken so many times, you can't help but to not give a shit." Nancy turned on her heel, walking out of the room.

Michelle's eyes traveled over Max's body again. Maybe for once she would give him a chance. For Michelle, life had always been about doing things a certain way, and following rules. But there were no rules to love were there?

And why did she needlessly think about love? Especially with someone as horrid as him. But he wasn't horrid. He was handsome, and funny, and that twinkle in his eye simply made her smile. There was something different about this man, something that she was going to put her faith on. She had only spoken to him for five minutes…and yet…it felt like years.

That's it. She thought silently with a smirk. Love speeds up time.


End file.
